The Vault
by HarmonyAk
Summary: Half the team is caught in an explosion. Can their friends save them? How do you save someone when you believe they're dead? *Major spoilers for 'Dog Tags' and some spoilers for other episodes.
1. The Big Bang

Chapter One: The Big Bang

**Chapter One: The Big Bang**

"_Abby, I cannot keep this dog," McGee said, backing away a step._

_Abby frowned, pouting. "Come on, Timmy. I know you two would get to be friends if you—"_

_"Abby!" McGee snapped, more harshly than he had intended. "You just don't get it, do you? He tried to KILL me!"_

_"He was just defending his home," Abby protested._

_"I don't CARE! Abby, I'm serious. I'm not taking this dog." McGee knew he shouldn't be yelling at Abby, but he had been under a lot of strain. He could usually count on her to soothe him; he did, in fact, turn to Abby in times of stress. But this time she had turned on him, and he was angry. More than that, he was also hurt._

_"But Jethro—" _

_"And that's another thing, Abby!" he snapped, on a roll. "You can't just rename a fully adult dog! How old are you?!"_

_"How old?" Abby sputtered. "You know you can't ask a girl her age!"_

_"Abby, dammit—" McGee raised his voice and his arm to make a point. With a growl, the dog lunged. With a cry, McGee jerked his body backwards._

_"Jethro!" Abby yelled, grabbing his collar. "McGee, you're scaring him!" she said, glaring._

_McGee, still backing away from the animal, gave her a hurt, incredulous look, and hurried out the door._

He hadn't talked to her in three days. He hadn't been to her lab. For once, his teammates had been considerate enough not to bug him about it, although he could tell they wanted to from the looks they kept shooting him. McGee knew this issue had to be resolved, that his argument with Abby might actually be affecting his work, but he wasn't going to forget this. If she didn't apologize for choosing the dog that tried to kill him—_twice_—over him, he didn't want to be her friend anymore.

"Probie!" Tony snapped, pulling McGee back to the real world.

He blinked. "Sorry. What?" he asked, remembering to keep his voice low.

"Shh!" Tony pointed. Down the hall in front of them was a rubber glove, lying in the floor. "Most bank tellers don't wear those," Tony whispered, easing forward. "Rubber glove in the floor, Boss," he added for the edification of the people listening. He gestured for McGee to follow, and crept down the hall.

They were investigating reports of suspicious activities at this bank over the last few weeks. It seemed a young Marine, Luther Sutter, had been seen hanging around a lot, chatting with tellers, especially one teller, who was convinced he was stalking her. NCIS was called in because it was a Marine, and because it was unclear whether it was a stalking or casing the bank for a robbery.

This evening, just before closing time, Sutter was caught on camera entering the bank. No one noticed until after close, but the young man had never left. And he was carrying a hard-sided case of some kind. Gibbs' money—no pun intended—had been on robbery, so here they were. Gibbs covered the front exit, Ziva the back, and McGee and Tony had the unenviable task of finding the guy and stopping the robbery.

They rounded the corner and stopped dead. Ten feet in front of them was the suspect, fiddling with something on the wall. He sensed them and whirled, wide-eyed. "NCIS! Freeze!" Tony shouted as the man bolted.

They ran after him, deeper into the bank. Neither thought to check the object on the wall as they passed it. Sutter ran, dodging and weaving, ignoring the "stop" and then "stop or we shoot." Contrary to what TV would have one believe, it was really, really hard to shoot someone when both parties were running, and neither Tony nor McGee stopped to take a shot. For one thing, they didn't really want to kill him without finding out what he was doing, and for another thing they were gaining. He dashed through the fire door and down a flight of stairs, NCIS agents close on his heels. They almost caught him when his shirt caught on the door as he left the stairwell and ran headlong down the dim passageway below the bank.

Tony tackled him just as they passed through the door to the vault, which was standing open. They rolled around, McGee trying to figure out a way to help without hurting his partner. "Robbing banks is a big no-no for a Marine," Tony panted, clearly trying to distract Sutter, who was trying to get an arm free to punch him.

Sutter's only reply was to attempt a kick. Tony dodged and the boot connected with the vault door, slamming it closed. McGee momentarily forgot about the fight and the Marine in a sudden panic that the door had locked and they were stuck. He was sharply reminded of the combatants when Sutter managed to get and arm free and raked his hand across McGee's shin. He swore and stepped back, unholstering his weapon. "Freeze, or I shoot!" he warned.

"About time, Probie," Tony muttered. The nature of the battle suddenly shifted as Tony tried to break away. Sutter grabbed at him and actually managed to free Tony's weapon just before he got free. Sutter stood up and started to raise the weapon. McGee fired, hitting him in the chest. With a yell, he pitched backwards, dropping the weapon. Tony hurried to pick it up.

That was when all hell broke loose.

o o o

_Not again_ was what Gibbs thought when the explosion's force blasted him backwards. He was thrown at least ten feet, landing on the grass in front of the bank with a grunt. He scrambled desperately to his feet as explosions continued to roar through the bank. He turned and ran as the whole thing started to come down, demolition-style.

Stopping at a safer distance he stood, not noticing that he was being peppered with small chunks of concrete. He may have yelled names, he didn't know. All he knew was that Tony and McGee had been in there. The building fell straight down into itself with a thundering crash, dust and smoke rising up from it. In moments it was over. Where a ten-story building had once stood was now nothing but a rubble pile. "Tony," Gibbs whispered. It was meant to be a yell, but that was all that came out. Tony.

"Gibbs!" came a desperate shout in his ear, and he realized that Ziva had been yelling names during the whole demolition: Tony, McGee, Gibbs. She sounded nearer panic than he had ever heard her.

"I'm here," he managed, stopping partway through to clear his throat. "I'm here, Ziva," he said again, voice stronger.

"Gibbs!" she said again, but this time the tone was different, more a confirmation that he was alive. "I am coming around to you. Are you injured?"

Gibbs frowned, eyes still glued to the rubble of the bank. Was he injured? He had no idea. He certainly didn't feel any pain. _Shock,_ he told himself, forcing his eyes away from his agents' impromptu grave. He could see blood on the front of his shirt, but not very much. Injuries caused by shrapnel from the building, he supposed. "You ok?" he returned.

"I am fine," she said. He could see her now, running around the building at the outer edge of the parking lot. "I was already running when the charges on my side of the building went off. I believe that there was a premature explosion."

That explained the force that had thrown him clear, then. It must have been set near the front door. Ziva hurried up to him. She was dirty, probably from flinging herself down on the ground, but didn't appear injured. "You are hurt," she said, frowning at him in concern.

Gibbs allowed her to lead him over to a clear patch of curb, and sat down on the grass when she pushed at him. His mind was numb. He hadn't felt this way when Kate died. He had felt responsible, and shocked. Sad, certainly. He had liked Kate. But he hadn't felt this crushing sense of loss, not since Kelly and Sharon had been murdered. He was dimly aware of Ziva gently poking and prodding to assess his injuries. He didn't think he was hurt badly, but he probably wasn't the best judge right now. He would get Ducky to take a look at him; he didn't need a hospital.

Ducky. And Abby. With a start, Gibbs realized he would have to tell them. Abby would be crushed. This thought snapped him out of his own grief sufficiently to let him bat away Ziva's helping hands. He also became aware of sirens: fire trucks, police. "I'm fine," he said gruffly. "I need to call Abby and Ducky…" He looked over at the arriving police cars, torn between the need to tell Abby in person and the duty of reporting what had happened.

"I will stay and talk to the authorities," Ziva said, sensing his dilemma. He looked up at her. She gazed back levelly, eyes as old as time. He knew she cared. He knew she grieved. But none of that was present on her face right now. She was all business. That would be the best way to handle the situation here, he realized.

He stood, allowing Ziva to help him. Now that the shock was wearing off, he was starting to feel the pain. "Thanks," he said.

Ziva ducked in front of him to make eye contact, staring deep into his eyes. "Will you be alright to drive?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said, waving her off. He walked back to their car, parked across from the bank—the rubble—and miraculously untouched. He fumbled in his pockets for the keys, then saw them in the ignition. He drove back to NCIS headquarters on autopilot.

o o o

Abby sat in the corner under Mister Mass Spec, rocking gently. She was dimly aware that the same song had now looped back around on the CD player several times. Many times. How many? McGee was good with numbers. He could have told her. But he was dead.

McGee was dead. Timmy was dead. And the last thing she had said to him was to blame him for getting attacked by a dog. Stupid dog. Suddenly she felt a rush of hatred for Jeth—for Butch, she reminded herself, fresh tears spilling down her face—so strong that she was glad for the first time that she had found him a home with that nice couple in Stafford, and didn't have to look at him anymore.

"Timothy," she sobbed, covering her face with her hands, smearing anything left of her makeup into an irredeemable mess. He wasn't dead. He wouldn't die before she could apologize. And Tony was just too stubborn to die. They had thought him dead three—four—she had lost track of the times. And he hadn't died. Just like he wasn't dead this time. A weird calm settled over her and she slowly stood up, a small smile playing across her lips. They weren't dead. They had somehow survived.

The smile disappeared as she realized the awful truth: they were buried alive! She had to get them out! She glanced a the clock and was shocked to see that it was two in the morning. It had been…six when Gibbs had told her. That meant they had been buried for more than eight hours already! She ran out the door, barely remembering to turn out the lights, and made a mad dash for her car. "Hold on, guys, I'm coming," she gasped. "Hold on!"


	2. Darkness

_A/N: Thanks for all the kind reviews!_

**Chapter Two: Darkness**

McGee lay on the floor, stunned, deafened. All his senses were telling him he was alive, but his brain was telling him he should be dead. When the explosions began, he had instinctively fallen to the floor and covered his head. Miraculously, nothing heavy had fallen on him. His knees hurt where they had hit the floor, and his arm and neck hurt from the stupid dog, but other than that, he seemed to be ok. He coughed once from the dust that had floated in as the noise—building falling?—had gone on and on. He noticed with some detachment that his cough sounded muffled. As he focused on hearing, he realized that through the noise-induced, hopefully temporary deafness, he could hear other sounds: coughing from nearby, moaning from a little farther off. He forced himself to sit up, blinking to assure himself that his eyes were open. It was pitch black. No light. None. "Tony?" he asked, still chocking on dust.

The coughing stopped momentarily. "Probie?" Tony said breathlessly, his voice ending in a cough.

McGee crawled towards the voice, bumping into what felt like Tony's leg. He seemed to be sitting with his legs in front of him. McGee reached up and found Tony's shoulder. He was resting against he wall. "You ok?" he asked, concerned.

"Stop fondling me," Tony said with another cough, batting at McGee's hand. "I'm fine. It's just this dust."

It did seem to be dustier where Tony was, but the air was beginning to clear a bit, and the coughing was easing. McGee resisted the urge to feel for pulse rate and check for bleeding, and removed his hand. "Ok," he said, at a loss. Tony said he was fine, and he probably was, since McGee was unhurt. He tried to keep from holding his eyes extra wide to let in the light that wasn't there.

"You ok, McGee?" Tony asked. He had started to shift around, struggling up to a kneeling position like McGee.

"I'm fine," McGee said, still surprised to find it true. He reached out to help Tony, who seemed to be having trouble untangling his feet. It was disorienting in the darkness. The moaning he had heard before was getting louder. Or maybe his hearing was getting better. That was when McGee remembered that he had shot someone. Again. At least this time it was a bad guy. "Sutter," he said in alarm.

"Got a flashlight?" Tony asked practically.

"No, I—cell phones!" McGee exclaimed with sudden inspiration, pulling his out. He flipped it open. No bars, of course. He hadn't expected there to be. But the screen lit up, illuminating Tony's face. "Flashlight," he said unnecessarily.

"Good idea," Tony said, pulling his out and opening it as well. "Dammit, no service."

"We're in a bank vault, Tony. The radios are useless in here too," McGee explained in the tone one would use on someone very young or moderately stupid. To add emphasis to his statement, he pulled the ear bud out and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor.

Tony followed suit, refused to rise to the bait, chose instead to ignore it completely, and focused on the wounded man. "Hey," he called, attempting to throw light on Sutter with the phone, "what the hell did you do?"

McGee chose the more humanitarian approach. He stood, using Tony's shoulder to lever himself up, and went over to the guy to see if he could help. His light didn't illuminate very well, but from what he saw, the Marine was in a bad way. He lay on his back, one arm flung out, one on his chest, which looked almost with blood in the greenish glow of the phone's screen. His head was turned towards McGee, eyes half-closed against the light. He moaned and coughed, but didn't try to speak.

"McGee, get back over here," Tony commanded suddenly. McGee opened his mouth to argue against this callousness, but something in Tony's tone stopped him. he wordlessly went back to his partner, who had struggled to his feet. "He could still be dangerous," Tony explained quietly.

McGee couldn't suppress a snort of derision. "How? I shot him in the chest."

"Yes, you did," Tony said, voice barely above a whisper and for McGee's ears only. "And do you still have your weapon? I don't know about you, but I had other things on my mind besides holding on to mine a minute ago."

McGee looked back at Sutter, suddenly alarmed. Tony was right. Both weapons were missing. "Ok," he said just as softly, "so we find the weapons…"

"Then help the bad guy," Tony finished. "Good Probie."

"Hey!" Sutter called suddenly, voice weak. "I'm bleeding bad." His voice broke off as another coughing fit took him.

McGee started to help him again, but Tony put out a restraining hand. "Weapons first," he reminded. Grimly, McGee turned his back to the injured man and began to scan the floor near where he had fallen for his firearm. Tony headed back towards Sutter, looking for his.

As he searched he took stock of their surroundings with a creeping sense of terror. The vault was secure, apparently. Dust has sifted in, but nothing had fallen. However, the walls where he could see them were crisscrossed with cracks. He swallowed and forced his eyes away from the spider web of cracks, focusing instead on the floor. Attention properly focused, he soon found his weapon up against door where he had apparently flung it when he covered his head. It seemed unharmed, so he reholstered it and turned his attention, and the weak light of his phone, on the door. He pushed on it: nothing. He pulled on it: nothing. "Tony!" he said, embarrassed to hear the fear in his voice.

In three steps Tony was beside him, reholstering his own weapon. "Breathe, Probie," he commanded, gripping McGee's shoulder

"The door won't—"

"Won't open. I see that," Tony interrupted, speaking in a soft and surprisingly soothing voice. "One thing at a time—"

"Help me," Sutter moaned from behind them, interrupting whatever Tony had been about to say.

McGee turned back, glad to focus on something other than their entrapment. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves—a ubiquitous presence in the pockets of every NCIS agent he knew—and knelt by the wounded man. "Tony, would you hold my light, please?" he asked, even as he felt a hand gently lift the cell phone out of his gloved one. With Tony holding both phones as close as he could to the Marine's chest, McGee started pulling cloth away to assess the damage. The bullet had hit him just to the right of center chest, missing his heart by at least an inch but undoubtedly hitting his lungs and possibly his spine. He was bleeding, but not dangerously fast. From a first aid course McGee had once taken, he remembered that the biggest danger here was a sucking chest wound, wherein air filled the chest cavity and forced the lungs to collapse. That was exactly the case, too, if the hissing, sucking sound Sutter made with every breath was any indication. He gently probed underneath Sutter, but felt no exit wound, so at least air was being taken in from one point only.

"We need something to cover that wound, and fast," Tony said, obviously remembering a similar class. One light disappeared as he felt around in his pockets.

McGee began to do the same thing, when he realized they did have something that would work. "You have gloves on you?" he asked.

"Oh, hey, yeah," Tony agreed. "Hang on." The other light disappeared for a few moments, during which time McGee heard furtive cutting noises. Then the light returned, and Tony handed him a wad of glove. McGee looked and realized that Tony had cut one glove in half. "To tie the other one on," Tony explained.

Crude, but effective, McGee thought. He asked for and got the knife Tony had used to cut the glove—a tiny belt knife—and cut away Sutter's shirt. He then placed the whole glove over the sucking chest wound and bound it on with the other glove, knotting the two half middle fingers and the two half cuffs together. It was stretched very tightly across the Marine's broad chest, but McGee supposed that was the point. He had placed it in such a way that the binding was above the wound, with the glove hanging down over it. Hopefully that would be enough to stop more air getting in, and may be loose enough to allow some air back out. He bound the whole thing with Sutter's bloody shirt and finished off by placing his own jacket—his own 500 jacket—on the wounded man.

"That's it?" Sutter demanded, sounding offended. "That's all you're going to do?" His indignation gave way to another bout of wet-sounding coughing. McGee was glad to note, though, that he didn't seem to have a collapsed lung yet. He would be in much more pain if he had.

McGee, charity exhausted at the Marine's ingratitude, got up and stripped off his gloves without a word. Tony bent in close. "Now that we're comfy, dirt bag, you want to tell us why you blew up the bank?" Tony asked in a dangerously quiet tone.

"Charges weren't supposed to go off so soon," Sutter said, apropos of nothing.

"Not what I asked," Tony said.

"Piss off," Sutter suggested, then lapsed into a coughing fit. To McGee it sounded sullen.

Tony snorted with disgust. He handed McGee back his cell phone. "We're not going to get anything out of him. He's a tough guy. Aren't you, tough guy?" he asked loudly, prodding Sutter in the leg.

"Come on, Tony," McGee said quickly, trying to distract Tony from their patient. "The door."

"Right. Door," Tony said, following McGee, who hastily stepped back over to it. He gave it a push, then a shove, then kicked it for good measure. "Ow," he commented, hopping slightly to favor the injured toe.

McGee was mostly successful in suppressing a smile. "Nice going," he commented automatically. "So much for not being injured."

Tony stopped nursing his foot to glare at McGee. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself, Probie."

"Door didn't budge," McGee said, sobering. "We need to get Sutter medical attention—"

"If we don't get out of here, Sutter's the least of our worries," Tony said grimly. "Even if the door wasn't locked, which is obviously is, I'm betting there's rubble on the other side."

"Oh my god, we're going to die, aren't we?" McGee asked before he could stop himself. He felt the panic start to rise again.

"Stay with me, McGee!" Tony ordered, gripping his arm. Hard.

McGee focused on the pain, since it was his injured arm Tony was holding. Oddly, that helped. The panic started to recede, and he could focus again. "Ow," he said finally.

Tony glanced down and immediately let go. "Sorry," he said looking abashed.

McGee shrugged the apology off. "So what's the plan, then?" he asked instead, hoping unreasonably that Tony actually had one.

Tony looked at the door, then back at McGee. From the grim set of his jaw, McGee could tell that he didn't have one.


	3. Stakeout

_A/N: I'm actually surprised that there weren't more comments along the lines of 'huh?' with the treatment of the sucking chest wound last chapter. I'm well aware that wouldn't work very well, but it's the only thing I could think of that they would have on them. My thought was that Tony cut the rubber glove in half separating the front (palm side) from the back side, and then they were tied back together to form, basically, a giant rubber band, that McGee then put around Sutter's chest. Sorry for the confusion._

_And as always, thanks for the reviews! :)_

o o o

**Chapter Three: Stakeout**

Abby arrived to a scene of controlled chaos. The rescue workers had set up flood lights, and men and women in hard hats, along with a small crane, worked to lift rubble into waiting dump trucks. Fire trucks and construction vehicles lined the street in front of where the bank had been, and people milled around them, drinking coffee and talking on radios and cell phones. Abby parked a polite distance away from the trucks and climbed out, looking for someone who seemed to be in charge. She settled on a fire fighter standing with one leg resting on a fire engine, poring over blueprints of some kind. "Excuse me, ma'am?" Abby said politely as she approached.

"This is a closed area, miss," the woman said, not looking up.

"But my friends are in there," Abby insisted.

The woman did look up now. Her face, lined with years of life, creased in sympathy. "I'm sorry, miss—"

"Abby Sciuto," Abby supplied. "You're…?"

"Chief Randall," said, making a gesture as if to shake hands then thinking better of it. "I'm sorry about your friends, Miss Sciuto."

"What? You're not giving up, are you?" Abby said, suddenly panicky. "They're trapped in there, maybe hurt—"

Chief Randall shook her head. "Miss Sciuto—"

"Abby," she said automatically.

"Abby," she began again. "We're not giving up, of course not. But you have to realize that the odds of survival from an explosion of that magnitude are next to nil. We're more concerned right now with the recovery of the—"

"Do NOT say bodies!" Abby exclaimed, almost yelling. "They're not dead! I know it doesn't seem likely, but you don't know them! I do! They wouldn't be killed in such a…such a…" She stopped with a sob. "They're not dead," she said again, more quietly.

Chief Randall smiled kindly and patted her on the shoulder. "Abby, we're doing everything we can. The best thing you can do is go home and get some rest."

"No," Abby said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Someone has to be here for them when they're found."

Chief Randall opened her mouth to reply, then sighed instead. "Ok, you can stay. But please get farther back. It's not safe here for civilians. This is a hard hat area."

"I'm not a civilian! I'm NCIS!" Abby pulled out her ID to prove it. "And I can _put on _a hard hat!"

"You're an NCIS agent as well?" the fire chief asked.

"Well…" Abby fidgeted. "I'm a forensic scientist."

"Then please step back some," she said, still kindly. "Over by your car is far enough, and you can make sure we're working hard, ok?" she smiled, and Abby found herself smiling with her. This woman, although she didn't believe they were alive, would still do her best. Abby could tell. With a tremulous smile, she flounced back to wait in her car for her boys to be found.

o o o

It was three a.m., and Gibbs was trying very hard to sleep. He was lying down and had taken his clothes off and everything. It wasn't the aches of bruises or the pain of the cuts in his face and arms that kept him awake. He had slept through much worse pain like a baby. It was just that he kept finding ways to make it his fault.

Telling Ducky had been hard. The medical examiner was quite attached to all of Gibbs' people. They were friends. But telling Abby had been almost impossible. The look in her eyes when he told her Tony and Tim were dead was so lost, so sad. He had wanted to stay and help her, but she had shooed him out and shut the door, preferring to grieve alone. He understood that; he did that himself.

He shook his head, trying to clear the prickle of tears behind his eyes. The motion hurt the cuts on his face, and he was glad for the distraction. With a sigh, he realized sleep would be hopeless. He got up and threw on clothes in the dark. He debated going down to the basement to work on his boat, but instead grabbed his keys and headed out to the car.

He hadn't realized where he was going until he could see the lights of the recovery site—not rescue, but only recovery. He was surprised to see a familiar bright red Abbymobile parked to the left of the fire trucks. He pulled in behind the car and got out. He found her sitting on a blanket on the lawn next to her car, chin in hands, watching the emergency personnel digging through what was left of the bank. He sat down beside her.

She didn't look at him, but instead leaned over to rest against him. He put an arm around her and held her close. "Hey, Abbs. How're you holding up?"

"Better than Timothy or Tony," she said in a small voice.

Gibbs looked at the wreckage. He'd have to give her that. "It was probably quick," he said, trying to assure himself as much as her.

Abby pulled away a little to look up at him. "They're not dead, Gibbs!"

Her words caused a surge of hope, quickly quashed by the obvious lack of alive Tony or McGee standing in front of them, and the flattened state of the building. Gibbs swallowed several times before he could speak. "Oh, Abby."

His voice was so full of sadness that she pulled away and glared at him. "They're not DEAD, Gibbs!" Apparently Abby's method of coping was denial.

He was saved from having to respond to that by the arrival of another familiar car: a black Chrysler. Fornell, spotting them, got out and walked over to their blanket. Gibbs stood at his arrival. "I'm so sorry," Fornell said by way of greeting. He gripped Gibbs' forearm in sympathy. "I would have been here sooner, but I was just briefed on whose team was involved."

"Thanks, Tobias," Gibbs said. "I take it Homeland Security is involved in this?"

"It's a building bomb, of course they are," Fornell said. As they talked they walked a little away from Abby. She didn't need to hear this, and Fornell didn't need to hear the 'they're not dead' from her. "Of course it goes without saying that your people will take the lead in this," he continued.

It didn't go without saying, actually, and usually NCIS would have a hell of a time fighting the FBI for the right to head the investigation. The fact that Fornell said it so easily was much more a testament to a long friendship than the spirit of interdepartmental cooperation. "Thanks, Tobias," he said again.

"Why don't you fill me in on what you have so far?" Fornell asked. Gibbs sketched out the background for him: how it had appeared that the Marine was targeting the bank. For demolition, apparently. "But you don't know for certain that your man was the one who set the explosives?" Fornell asked when he was finished.

Gibbs shook his head. "No conclusive evidence, no. But come on, Tobias! It's a hell of a coincidence!"

Fornell nodded. "I agree. The recovery workers found traces of dynamite, so it was definitely an intentional explosion. Was your Marine a demolitions expert, by any chance?"

Gibbs frowned in thought. He honestly couldn't remember. "I don't know, why don't you ask T—" he caught himself, but not before Fornell frowned in sympathy.

"Look, Jethro," he said gently, "it's really late. Why don't we meet tomorrow and go over all this?"

It was really late. It was almost four o'clock in the morning. Nearly twelve hours since his people had been killed. "What are you doing at work at this hour?" he asked suddenly. Tobias was his friend, and he would take an interest in this case, but this was above and beyond the call of duty.

"Just got a call about the explosives," Fornell explained.

"They got you out of bed for that?"

"I asked them to call me if they found anything," Fornell said. He didn't add that it was bodies that he was expecting them to find, but the unspoken thought hung in the air between them.

o o o

Abby watched Gibbs talking to Fornell just out of earshot. Normally she would be offended that she was being excluded to obviously, but tonight she just didn't care. It wasn't important to her who did this, or why. There would be time enough to kill the guilty parties later. Right now all she could think about was Timothy and Tony, trapped in the building, maybe hurt, maybe…she glanced at the rubble pile that had once been a building. It was very difficult to maintain the conviction that they were living when she looked right at it. But she knew that there had been cases of people being trapped in buildings like this for days and being found hungry, cold, but alive. And Tony was a survivor. He would be ok, and he would save her McGee too. They had to be ok. And she was going to wait right here until she could see them with her own eyes. And she was going to hold them and never, ever let them go again.

o o o

Ziva hadn't slept at all. In the cold light of early morning, the sun not yet up, she got out of bed, feeling uncharacteristically heavy and slow. She was usually a morning person, and early riser, and got easily out of bed, ready for the day. Not today, however. She couldn't sleep, and therefore didn't want to stay in bed with her dark thoughts, but her body was leaden. Her eyes were swollen, she could feel them, and she needed to get rid of the evidence of how she had spent her night before Gibbs saw her.

Poor Gibbs. He loved Tony like a son, any idiot could see that, and this was hitting him harder than a normal commander losing his troops. He had been so lost yesterday. She had worried about his driving back to NCIS by himself. He had apparently made it alright, though, because by the time she had briefed police and fire fighters and returned to headquarters, Gibbs had told Abby and Ducky about what had happened. He was in with Director Shepard when she had arrived, so she didn't see him. He went home directly afterwards, hopefully to get some much-needed rest. She had gone to Ducky, who had told her that Gibbs' wounds were superficial, and physically he would be fine. Abby wouldn't talk to her or open the door to her lab.

Ziva had stayed at headquarters for several hours, alternately staring at her computer and not seeing and staring at unwritten reports and not writing. She had finally given up and gone home, which is where the loss and grief had finally found her.

She dressed in a sweat suit and forced her body through some reluctant stretches, wincing when muscles made sore from diving away from the explosion were forced to exert. Then she headed out into the cold gray predawn for a run, much longer than her usual loop. She ran farther and faster than she was used to, until her legs burned and her breath came in gasps. When she finally returned to her apartment, she only had time for a quick shower and no time at all for a breakfast she didn't want to eat anyway before heading to work. Today was not a day to be late. Gibbs needed her. They all needed her.


	4. Waiting

**Chapter Four: Waiting**

McGee and Tony had explored the vault without finding anything encouraging. The door was solidly closed and presumably blocked from without. The walls and ceiling seemed to be intact, except for the worrisome cracks running along them. The dust had apparently come in through the now-dead ventilation system, which may or may not mean that they had fresh air coming in. If they didn't, they had about two days of air, if that. So they would asphyxiate before they died of thirst. Neither option appealed much to McGee, but if Tony was going to be calm about it, then so would he.

And Tony was being calm. Annoying though he may be at times, that was one thing McGee greatly admired about him: he was generally good in a crisis. It was that trait more than anything else that got McGee to actually follow Tony as a leader.

After exhausting the possibility of escape, they had to resign themselves to waiting for rescue. They sat shoulder to shoulder as far away from the moaning, complaining Marine as the cramped vault would allow. They couldn't help him more than they had, they didn't like him, and McGee felt guilty for causing his suffering. They had turned off their cells to conserve the batteries, and sat in absolute darkness. It was oppressive, like a physical weight pushing down on them. McGee closed his eyes to try and pretend it was just a normal night. Eventually, he slept.

He awoke to moaning coming from Sutter. Tony stirred beside him and turned on his cell phone. McGee was temporarily blinded. As soon as his vision cleared, he struggled to his feet, legs cramped and butt numb from sitting so long. Tony joined him and they went to check on their 'patient.'

Sutter had gotten much worse in the hours they had slept. Even with the glove keeping most of the air out of his chest cavity, there was nothing they could do about the blood, and from the sound of his labored breathing he was beginning to drown in it. "We need to sit him up some," McGee said, looking around futilely for something to use as a prop. This vault was used for safe deposit boxes. With the exception of one box that Sutter had apparently opened, the rest of the boxes were closed and locked, offering nothing. The box Sutter had pulled out was now empty, the contents apparently stolen and then lost by him in the chase. They could have used the box as an uncomfortable prop, but they had already co-opted it into a makeshift toilet in one corner of the room.

The only thing they could do was sit him up against a wall. This they did as gently as possible, although he still cried out and moaned at the treatment. "Why the hell did you bomb the bank?" Tony asked again.

Sutter rolled his head to look at Tony. "Damn bitch," he said, then coughed.

"Did you just call me a bitch?" Tony asked, sounding more amused than offended.

"Fixed her good," Sutter elaborated. He wasn't referring to Tony, then.

"Wait," Tony said. "You blew up an entire _bank _over a _woman_?"

"This woman wouldn't be Stacie Keller, would it?" McGee asked.

"Stacie," Sutter murmured, confirming it. So this _had been _about stalking. "She said she didn't want to see me…" he broke off, coughing.

"And the safe deposit box you opened?" Tony asked relentlessly. McGee wanted to know too, but he also wished they could leave the poor man to die in peace. What did his motives matter now?

"Her box…thought she kept my letters…"

"You thought she kept love letters in her safe deposit box." Tony said flatly.

"It would prove she loved me," Sutter said with a little more strength.

"And were they there?" McGee couldn't help but ask.

Sutter looked at him, eyes opaque, dead inside. "No," he said finally, then closed his eyes again.

There really wasn't much more to say to that, so McGee and Tony retreated to their corner. "He blew up an entire bank to get back at his ex?" Tony muttered incredulously. "Not even Gibbs' ex number two would go that far!"

McGee stiffened at Gibbs' name. He had been feeling so sorry for himself that he hadn't thought about what may have happened to the rest of the team, next to the building as they were. "Tony! Do you think that Gibbs and Ziva are ok?"

"I've thought about that," Tony said. "There's really no way to know."

"Thanks. That's very comforting," McGee said grumpily. "The least you could do is lie to me about it." He was trying for funny, but it came out more desperate than he liked.

Tony sighed. "Look, Probie, there's no way to know what kind of damage happened above us."

"It felt like the whole thing came down, and the cracks in the vault…" McGee turned his phone on again and waved it to illuminate the cracks in the wall beside them.

"Stop that," Tony ordered.

"What?" McGee demanded, leaving his phone on.

"First," Tony said, holding up a finger, "we don't have that much battery power. You should save your light for when you need it. Second," he held up another finger, "I don't really want to look at those cracks, and neither do you, McGee."

McGee opened his mouth to argue, but really couldn't find a fault with the logic. As long as he was pretending that the wrecked building wasn't going to come crashing down on their heads, he could keep fairly calm about things. The trick, of course, was not thinking about it. Not looking at it. So turning off the light would be a good thing there. But he really, really hated the pitch blackness. With an effort, he flipped his phone closed, noticing with some embarrassment that he pressed a little closer to Tony as he did so.

Tony patted his shoulder. "They'll find us, McGee. Gibbs is up there. You know how stubborn he can be."

McGee decided that this wasn't the time to point out that the people above almost undoubtedly thought they were dead. Instead he said, "That first explosion, just before the main ones? It probably warned them away."

"Exactly!" Tony agreed quickly. "So they're fine, and as we speak they're digging us out."

"Why can't we hear any digging?" McGee asked, looking up into the darkness. The only sounds were their voices and Sutter's labored breathing. His hearing had cleared while they slept. Before, he was hoping that hearing loss was why they couldn't hear the sounds of rescue, but that excuse didn't exist anymore.

"Bank vault," Tony reminded him. "Probably soundproof."

"We heard the explosions," McGee pointed out.

"They were a lot louder and a lot closer than rescue crews."

McGee didn't like the 'a lot closer,' but he let is pass. "How much air do you think we have?" he asked. He checked the time. They had been in here now for just over thirteen hours.

"If there wasn't some air coming in from outside, we would be dead by now." McGee supposed Tony's words were supposed to be comforting, but they had the opposite effect. Especially since the tone wasn't particularly soothing. "Hey, what are the symptoms of hypoxia?" Tony asked, calming leadership influence obviously at war with his hypochondria.

"Uh, headache, fatigue, shortness of breath, obviously…" McGee stopped, realizing that he had had a headache for some time. It was just a dull ache in the back of his head, and could just as easily be from stress, but still. "You have any of those symptoms?"

"I have a headache," Tony said softly. Hypochondria was winning.

"Did you hit your head when the bank exploded?" McGee asked, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"Well, yes," Tony admitted, "but not that hard."

Thus armed with something new to worry about, McGee flipped open is phone again. "You told me you weren't hurt!"

"Get that light out of my eyes, Probie! I'm fine!" Tony protested as McGee held up his makeshift flashlight and tried to determine pupil sizes. "Uh, no concussion, right?" Tony asked, sounding less confident.

McGee didn't see signs of a concussion, but what he did see in Tony's eyes was somehow worse: fear. The great and powerful agent DiNozzo was scared. He turned off the phone. "No, you're fine," he said.

"Which means hypoxia," Tony said.

McGee shivered. "There's probably enough air coming in to keep us alive," he said, hoping it was true.

"We should try to sleep, conserve—" Tony started, when he was interrupted by wet, hacking coughing from Sutter. "Dammit," he muttered, turning on his phone. They got up and went back to Sutter. His front (and therefore McGee's jacket) were soaked in blood, as was his mouth and chin. Another violent coughing fit doubled him forward. McGee and Tony rushed to support him as he coughed blood. When he finally stopped, his breath came in weak gasps.

McGee and Tony looked at each other over the top of Sutter's head. Tony looked grim. McGee supposed he looked scared, and perhaps guilty, because that's how he felt. It wasn't so much shooting a perp. It was injuring him and watching him die slowly. And there was no doubt that he was dying.

"Help me," Sutter whispered, obviously aware of the same thing.

McGee opened his mouth to tell the kid he would be fine, but couldn't bring himself to say something so obviously untrue. He looked again at Tony. "Tony—" he said helplessly.

Tony gently laid Sutter back against the wall and let go, sitting back on his heels. "Kid—Luther, look. I know you're not feeling too good right now. But help's on the way, so you just have to hold out a little while, ok?" McGee was impressed at how calmly Tony said this.

"It's hard to breathe," Sutter said, sending himself into another coughing fit. McGee held him, but this time Tony stayed back, face in the dim light of his phone unreadable. Sutter coughed for a long time. When he finished, his breath came in tiny gasps.

"Luther?" McGee asked. The Marine didn't respond. His eyelids didn't even flicker. McGee gently tucked the blood-stained coat around his shoulders and came around next to Tony. "He's dying," he whispered, low enough that only Tony could hear, in case Sutter was still conscious.

"Yes," Tony agreed, standing. They retreated to their corner, shutting off the light so they didn't have to see Sutter anymore. "He tried to kill us, McGee. It was self-defense. No, actually, it was probably DiNozzo defense, because it was probably me he was going to shoot."

"But I missed," McGee said, unmollified. "We're trained to shoot to kill, Tony. It would have been better. Easier for him."

"Yeah, but next time you won't miss. Stop beating yourself up," Tony said.

McGee didn't think he would do that for some time. "It's either feel bad about shooting the kid or think about asphyxiation or the ceiling falling in on us," he pointed out.

"Dammit, Probie!" Tony said, exasperated. "Think about-about-I dunno, whiskers on kittens or something."

"'Whiskers on kittens?'" McGee asked, smiling despite himself.

"You know, The Sound of Music?" Tony said. "Don't tell me you haven't seen that!"

"Of course I have, it just didn't seem relevant," McGee said.

"Not like Buried Alive. That's relevant, Probie. Want to talk about that?"

McGee shuddered. "No, I do not. I don't know that movie, and trust me, I don't _want _to."

Nothing left to say to each other, they lapsed into silence. Darkness, fear, and boredom eventually lulled them back to sleep.


	5. Armed

_A/N: sorry for the delay, folks. wasn't letting me upload yesterday._

.

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**Chapter Five: Armed**

When Ziva arrived for work Gibbs was already there, sitting at his desk looking over a file. For once he was actually wearing reading glasses, which he pulled off as she came in. "How are you doing?" he asked, voice sounding concerned.

Ziva sat down and arranged herself at her desk before answering. Gibbs had apparently gotten over the initial shock from last night. She looked up and met his gaze, hoping she looked more composed than she felt. "I am fine. You?"

"I'm fine, Ziva," Gibbs said automatically, taking a drink of his ever-present coffee.

She studied the bandages on his face with the bruises around them. "You were hit by a considerable amount of debris," she commented.

Gibbs shrugged. "I've been worse. Hell, I've been _blown up_ worse, Ziva."

That was true enough. "You are in very early," Ziva said, trying for neutral ground.

"We're meeting with Fornell and the director in a little while," Gibbs said.

Ziva frowned. "Fornell? Why Fornell?"

"Because Homeland Security is involved."

"But this is no terrorist attack. Is it?" She added, suddenly uncertain.

"Probably not, but we can't rule it out. And we still have the lead in the investigation."

"Ah. Good," Ziva said, realizing suddenly that for once she didn't care about the investigation. The person responsible was presumably dead along with Tony and McGee. Justice was as served as it was going to be.

"I've been reading Sutter's file," Gibbs said. "His specialty was—guess what? Explosives. He had formal training and a tour in Iraq to get good at it."

"But why would he blow up a bank?" Ziva asked, puzzled. "Surely if it were to cover up a robbery, he would have been long gone before the explosions?"

"And _that, _Officer David, is why Homeland Security is involved," Fornell said, causing Ziva to jump. She hadn't heard him come in. "Shall we retire to the director's office?" he asked Gibbs.

Abby sat wrapped in a blanket, back against her car. The sun had risen, its long golden rays warming her shoulder. The rescue people were in the process of switching shifts. The night crew were turning off the floodlights and moving them out of the way. They had been hauling rubble for fourteen hours, and barely made a dent in it. She couldn't stop thinking about Timothy and Tony trapped in there.

"Abby?" said a kind voice. She started and looked up to where Chief Randall was standing over here, her expressive face etched with exhaustion.

"Hi, Ma'am," Abby said.

Randall knelt in front of her. "Abby, you should go home. Get some rest."

"Not until they're found!" she said stubbornly, wrapping her arms more tightly around her knees.

Randall opened her mouth to say something, but a commotion in the explosion site interrupted her. She hurriedly excused herself and headed back over, either not noticing or not caring that Abby scrambled to her feet and followed. "What is it?" she asked of a young fireman standing next to the chief's truck.

"Found an arm," he said, then gasped when he saw Abby. "Uh, you shouldn't be here…"

Randall turned to Abby. "He's right. You don't need to hear this."

"Arm?" Abby said, gulping. "Whose arm?" She could feel her eyes brimming with tears. She was trying very hard to stay focused on them being alive, but without an arm? And where was the rest of him?

"Stay here," Randall ordered, then to the young man, "stay with her. Do NOT let her past this point. I'll be right back."

Abby started to follow, but the young man put a hand out to stop her. "You heard the chief, miss," he said.

"Abby," she said absently, eyes following the fire fighter as she went to see about the arm. "I should be over there."

"Hey. Hey," he repeated. She looked at him. "I'm Kevin, Abby. She's right; you need to stay here. You knew someone who was in the building?"

She nodded, looking away from him and back at the people clustered around where the arm had been found. "Of course I do. I'm NCIS too."

"So it's the agents you knew, not the security people?"

Abby looked back at him, stunned. "There were other people in the building?" It hadn't even occurred to her.

"Yeah. At least two security guards. It was after hours, so the tellers and the bank president had gone home."

"Oh, my god," she said, feeling both sorry for the dead security guards and glad that there was someone else for the arm to belong to. The terror she had felt moments ago began to ease. "Oh, Kevin? Stop saying 'knew,' ok? I _know_ them. They're not dead, and I don't think they'd appreciate you giving up on them."

Randall returned, saving Kevin from having to form a reply. She was gently carrying a package wrapped in black plastic. "Man's arm. No watch, no jewelry. No sleeve, must have been torn away."

"It's not Tony or Timothy," Abby said, voice breaking halfway through McGee's name.

"I'm afraid there's no way to know—"

"I wasn't asking; I was telling you," Abby clarified, voice steadier. "I'll take the-take it back to Ducky. We can do a fingerprint match. DNA tests if necessary." She held out her hands to receive the arm.

Randall didn't give it to her. "Abby, you're too close to this. The FBI are on their way to pick it up. Their forensic scientists—"

"Their forensic scientists only wish they were as good as me!" Abby flared. "And it's an NCIS case!" She hadn't heard the conversation between Gibbs and Fornell last night, so she didn't know this for certain. But she couldn't believe that Gibbs would let anyone take this away from them.

Randall still didn't budge. "I'm not questioning your credentials or your skills, Abby. But what if it IS the arm of one of your friends? Is that a memory you want for the rest of your life?"

"I've already seen dead friends," Abby snapped, thinking of Kate and of Tony, or rather, the body they had thought was Tony. "I can handle this."

Randall shook her head. "Ok, I see I'm not going to win this. We will wait for the FBI agent, and let him decide."

Abby wanted to argue. Instead she reached for her cell to call Gibbs. He would know what to do. She realized with panic that her phone wasn't in her pocket. Where was her phone? She patted herself down frantically. Was it in her car? She turned and headed back, without a word or a look to Randall. She and the arm would still be there when Abby called Gibbs, and then she would be sorry for trying to take away Abby's duty.

As she approached her car she remembered where her phone was. She had taken it out last night and called McGee. And Tony. Called and called, but she kept getting voice mail. She hadn't really expected their phones to be working down…down where they were trapped. But she had to try. She hadn't left any messages. Or had she? She had a vague memory of maybe saying something on McGee's phone. After a while, she had just continued to call their phones to hear their voices.

_"Hi, you've found Agent DiNozzo's phone. He's clearly not with me, and I'm lonely. So talk to me 'til he gets back."_

_"Hi, this is Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS. I'm not available to take your call right now, so if you'll please leave a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible."_

Abby had memorized them.

She found her phone in the blanket she had been sitting on. Phone in hand, she straightened back up. She started to dial Gibbs when she glanced up and suddenly realized she didn't have to. Relief flooded through her as she saw the NCIS truck approaching, Ducky at the wheel. Gibbs was in the passenger seat, with Fornell between them. Smiling with relief, Abby ran over, reaching the door to the truck before it had even stopped. "Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!"

He opened the door and shot her an odd look. But it was a smily Gibbsy odd look, so it was ok. And also, he had a Kaf-Pow. "You seem glad to see me."

"She won't let me have the arm!" Abby complained, shooting Fornell an accusing look. All the same, she reached for the Kaf-Pow, which Gibbs relinquished easily.

"She's just being cautious about chain of evidence, Abbs," he told her placatingly, as he climbed out of the truck. Fornell followed on his heels. He opened his mouth to say something.

"She said it was an FBI case," Abby cut him off, speaking to Gibbs, but glaring at Fornell.

"NCIS-slash-FBI," Fornell said mildly, holding his hands up in supplication. "I'm not trying to steal your evidence or your case, Miss Sciuto."

"Oh," she said, disarmed. It was pretty hard to stay mad in the face of that

"Besides, Abigail," Ducky said, coming around the truck, "it is I who should receive the arm, not you."

"I was going to bring it to you!" she protested. Then she sighed, too weary to have as much fire as usual. Squaring her shoulders and looking at Gibbs, she said, "I'll go back to my lab so I can do a fingerprint match as soon as Ducky gets the arm back."

"That would be good," Gibbs said.

Abby nodded and hurried back to her car, not bothering to pick up the blankets on her way. The sooner she could prove it wasn't Timothy or Tony's arm, the better she would like it.

"Dear Lord, has she been here all night?" Ducky asked as they watched Abby leave.

"Yeah, pretty much," Gibbs said, rubbing his eyes wearily. "She's trying to convince herself they're still alive."

"Is it possible?" Ducky asked, looking over at the rubble.

"Not likely," said a new voice, and all three men looked up to see a middle-aged woman in fire-fighting gear approaching them, carrying a black plastic bundle that could only be the arm. "As you can see, the whole building came straight down. Anything or anyone inside would have been crushed. It would have been quick. I'm sorry," she added. "I understand that there were NCIS agents in there."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Ducky, your arm."

Ducky glanced down at this own arm, then the light dawned and he reached for the package. "Of course. May I, my dear?"

The woman smiled and handed the package over. "Of course, doctor..."

"Doctor Mallard, but everyone calls me Ducky," Ducky told her, taking the arm.

"Chief Susan Randall," she said. "I would shake hands, but I've been digging through a building all night."

Ziva, who had been in the back of the truck, came around to join them, looking first at the arm and then at the rubble. "Is it usual to carry out a search through the night when there are sure to be no survivors?"

Randall frowned in disapproval. "It's never certain there are no survivors. It's policy to make every effort to find anyone who may be alive, especially in the first twenty-four hours." At that, everyone unconsciously glanced at his or her watches. It was after eight: over fourteen hours since the building had collapsed.

"I did not mean offense," Ziva said.

Randall relaxed. "None taken. It's been a long night. My shift is pretty much over."

"Then we won't keep you," Gibbs said. "Come on, people, we have what we came for." They exchanged pleasantries with the fire chief, loaded the arm, and headed back. Nobody was eager to stay and look over the rubble that was now their friends' grave. Besides, they had an arm to identify.


	6. Feelings

**Chapter Six: Feelings**

When McGee next awoke, he was greeted not only by oppressive blackness, but also silence. He jerked up from where he had been slumped against the wall and Tony's shoulder with a gasp.

"What's wrong, Probie?" Tony asked. He sounded tired, but not sleepy.

"Nothing I just…Sutter?" He turned his phone back on, noting that the screen seemed dimmer than it had before: battery was dying.

Tony shook his head, looking grim. "Breathed his last about an hour ago, McGee."

"God _damn _it!" McGee said forcefully.

"Probie, there wasn't anything we could have done," Tony said, trying to calm him.

McGee started to get up to go over to the Marine, but thought better of it. "He was only nineteen, Tony," he said instead.

"And he blew up a building with us in it, Probie." Tony said. "I hate to sound harsh, but get over it."

"I'm not used to killing people," McGee said.

"And I hope you never _get _used to it," Tony said. "But it was self defense, remember that. And he wouldn't have died if he hadn't set explosive charges, because we could have taken him to a hospital. So it's his own fault."

McGee, unable to think of anything to say to that, lapsed into silence. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he saw that Tony had laid the Marine down and covered his face with the jacket. McGee's jacket, which he didn't want back now. Ever.

"Your phone's losing its charge," Tony commented at last.

"How's yours?" McGee asked, glad to change the subject. He grudgingly turned his phone back off.

Tony grimaced. "Not much better." After a full day in the field yesterday, neither of them had had anything close to a full charge. And despite his admonishments, Tony had apparently been using his phone as much as McGee had. "Damn, but I'm thirsty," Tony complained peevishly.

McGee swallowed, realizing how thirsty he himself was becoming. He checked the time, and was surprised to see how much time had passed. It was already four in the afternoon. "You get any sleep?" he asked Tony.

"Yeah, although not as much as you did, McSnore," Tony said.

"Hey! I do not snore!"

"Like a chainsaw," Tony insisted.

McGee let is pass, not feeling up to the banter at the moment. His headache was stronger now, a constant throbbing telling him that the air really was running out. "We're going to suffocate," he said, before he could stop himself.

"We have one less person breathing the air, now," Tony said.

McGee stared at him incredulously. "How could you _say _that? That's horrible!"

"Well, what do you want me to say, Probie?" Tony demanded. "It's true."

"I _want_ you to say that you've found a way out of this," McGee admitted.

Tony snorted. "Sorry, Probilicious. I may be good, damned good even, but nobody's that good. This reminds me of 'How to Rob a Bank, when Nick Stahl and Erica—"

"Enough with the movie references already!" McGee snapped. He was angry, furious even. Sutter had the gall to die, they were stuck in a bank vault suffocating, and he hadn't eaten in over a day. He knew intellectually that none of this was Tony's fault, but after the comment about one less person breathing the air, he was an easy target. Besides, McGee was damned tired of being dismissed as just a lowly probie.

"And my name is Timothy McGee," he continued, gathering steam. "Think you can manage that? I haven't been a probie in more than two years, Tony! I would have thought you had SOME respect for me by now!" Even as the words left his mouth, McGee began to feel guilty. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. This had been a helle of a week, even before being trapped in a bank fault under a demolished building with a dead guy. A dead guy that had suffered for nearly a day, that McGee had shot. And now Tony was reverting back to his usual annoying self. The self that thought it would be funny to put a dog attack video on for the victim of a dog attack.

"_What_ is your problem?" Tony demanded, sounding taken aback and angry. And maybe something else, but McGee was too upset to care.

"My _problem,_ Special Agent DiNozzo, is that you have given me a hard time, picked on me, and generally made my life more difficult than it has to be for the last three and a half years! My problem is that you think it's FUNNY to pick on me and on my fears, and to play a video of attacking dogs—" He broke off, breathing heavily. After having gotten that out, he had run out of anything else to say. He had, in his excitement, stood up away from Tony. With an angry sigh, he walked until he hit the other wall, which didn't take very long, and sank down along it until he was seated facing Tony. Or he would be if there was any light.

Silence reigned for several minutes, broken only by McGee's ragged breathing. Finally, Tony spoke. "Your problem is that you're trapped in a bank vault, and you're scared."

"Trapped in a bank vault with YOU," McGee snapped, not ready to stop being mad yet.

"With me? Like that makes it so much worse? You don't like me very much, do you?" Tony demanded suddenly.

McGee's arm throbbed and his head hurt. Suddenly very tired, he didn't feel up to what was a complex answer to a simple question, so he answered only in silence. He could feel Tony waiting in the darkness for him to say something, but he crossed his arms and refused to give him anything.

Instead, he let his mind drift back to Abby, to the fight he had with her three—no, four—days ago. She was mad at him because he had shot the dog. Just like he had shot Sutter. Only with the dog, it was different. It was a _dog._ It occurred to him for the first time that maybe Abby didn't see the difference. Maybe to her it was like someone shooting a child for playing too rough. But McGee still could feel the teeth ripping into his arm and neck. He could still remember the primeval terror that gripped him. Not an innocent child. A monster, bent on killing him. He may be able to own a dog someday, but not that dog. Never that dog. Abby would just have to understand that. If, that is, they ever got out of this. In response to his thoughts, or possibly to his agitation a few minutes ago, his arm throbbed and burned.

Trying to distract himself from thoughts of the dog and Abby, from his growing thirst, and from his headache and the pain in his arm, McGee let his mind wander back over the years since he had met Abby and the NCIS team. His team. There had been some rough times, far too many of them. But there had also been some good ones, even a few involving Tony.

He was interrupted from his reverie when Tony spoke. "I'm scared too, Tim," he said quietly from the darkness.

McGee, who had just reached the point in his ruminations where he had remembered Tony saving him and Kate form the car bomb, swallowed past a guilt-induced lump in his throat. "I don't not like you, Tony," he managed.

"You know that's like a double negative, right?" Tony said. "Does that mean—dammit, I'm sorry." He stopped talking. He sounded sad.

McGee crawled back over to sit beside him. Tony pressed against him. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I don't mean to be such a jerk to you." He laughed suddenly. "Hell, I didn't even realize you saw it that way. I'm just playing."

"All the time, Tony," McGee said, feeling a little of the resentment bubble up again. "You pick on me _all_ the time. Gluing my fingers to my keyboard—twice. Making me look like an idiot in front of Gibbs. Invading my personal space. I can live with all that, although it's annoying. But the dog video?"

"I'm sorry about that. That was stupid," Tony said. "How's your arm doing, anyway?"

"It's fine," McGee said, refusing to change the subject. "And the probie thing?"

"Hell, McGee, I don't call you that because you are one. It's just…what I call you," Tony said. "I don't really know how to describe it. And I do respect you, McGee. I always have. You have scary good computer skills."

McGee smiled in the darkness. "Scary good? That's pretty good. Thanks, Tony."

"Of course, if you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll have to kill you," Tony added.

McGee actually laughed a little at that. He discovered that he wasn't really mad at Tony anymore. It felt good. "For the record, I respect you too, Tony," he said, feeling full of bonhomie. "With the same standard disclaimer applying," he added.

Tony patted McGee on the arm. Unfortunately, it was the injured one. McGee hissed and pulled his arm away. "Probie," Tony said, sounding alarmed.

"It's just that's the wrong arm," McGee explained.

"Sorry. But that's not what I meant. You're arm's hot. Does it hurt much?"

"Well, yes, now that you touched it," McGee complained. But he knew what Tony meant. It had been hurting quite a bit since their entrapment. "I may have torn the stitches," he said finally.

Tony touched it again, very gently. McGee gritted his teeth and tried not to wince or gasp as Tony gently ran his hands along the length of McGee's forearm. "Feels like the bites are getting infected," he said.

"It hasn't even been a day, Tony," McGee said, trying not to be alarmed, trying not to think about rabies.

"Yeah, but if you've torn the wounds open, and it being more than a day since the bandages were changed, it's possible." Tony insisted.

"I'm not too worried about it," McGee lied, trying to convince himself. "_Cat_ scratches are always infected, and nobody dies of them. It'll heal."

"That wasn't a cat, and those aren't scratches," Tony pointed out. "They're big ass torn puncture wounds. But you're right," he went on hurriedly. "I think that's probably the least of our worries at the moment.

"I'm more concerned about running out of air," McGee said, returning to their earlier conversation, willing himself not to think about the arm. Unfortunately, the idea of running out of oxygen was more alarming, and he immediately wished he hadn't said anything.

Tony apparently did as well. "Well, yes, me too," he said, sounding exasperated. "But we'll worry less if we don't think about it."

"Also, we'll use less oxygen if we don't talk about it," McGee said.

"Exactly, Probie. Uh, McGee," Tony corrected himself.

McGee wasn't sure how he felt about this. He had thought it bothered him that Tony called him 'probie.' But now he felt awkward about it. Hopefully if the subject didn't come up again, Tony would forget about and it would be business as usual when they got out of here. McGee finally understood why Tony had been creeped out when Gibbs was nice after Kate died. He didn't know if he could handle a kinder, gentler Tony either.

They sat in silence for a while, trying not to think about anything. At least, that was what McGee was doing. He didn't know about Tony, although he could hear the other man's breathing, which meant he was stressed out. Well, so was McGee. It wasn't surprising. "Tony?" he said at last, when he couldn't take it anymore.

"Yeah?" Tony responded.

"It's just…I think it would be better if we _did _talk," McGee said softly.

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "Movie trivia?"

McGee rolled his eyes. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"I'm open to suggestion."

"What about…" McGee trailed off, trying to think of a suitable, neutral topic. "What about your first case?" he said. "Tell me about that."

Tony groaned. "Tell me about _your _first case," he returned.

"First field case?"

"Yeah."

"Tony, you were _there _for my first case," McGee said.

"Oh, yeah, right."

They lapsed into silence. Apparently, when they were being civil to each other, there wasn't a whole lot to say. Eventually, he felt Tony relax into sleep beside him. Finally, staring off into the darkness, he drifted into sleep himself.

o o o

_A/N: This chapter is the main reason I wrote this fic :-p_

_As always, thanks to my lovely reviewers. Posting a story wouldn't be half as much fun without you :)_


	7. Mementos

_A/N: Sorry, kids, but this will be the last chapter posted until next week. I'm going out of town for a few days. I figured this would be a suitably torturous place to leave you :) I'll post the next chapter Monday or Tuesday.  
_

**Chapter Seven: Mementos**

Abby had spent the morning and most of the afternoon in her lab. They had immediately eliminated Tony and McGee as candidates for the arm: fingerprints didn't match. For good measure she had run their DNA against that of the arm while she was running the fingerprints though AFIS for identification. They had finally gotten a match for one Bobby C. Devlin, security guard, just before Ziva finally got the names of the missing security guards, which did include Devlin. Abby grumbled good-naturedly about how that bit of information would have been really helpful several hours ago, but she didn't really mind. What mattered was that it wasn't Timothy's arm. Or Tony's arm. They were still alive, then. But that also meant they were still stuck.

Fortified with Bert the hippo in one hand, a Kaf-Pow in the other, and McGee's novel under her arm, Abby had returned to her vigil on the lawn. No one had disturbed her blankets, and no one was parking in her spot. From the look of the rubble, no one had moved much of that either, although there were enough people and equipment about. "Move faster, guys," she urged them softly, squeezing Bert for comfort.

As she watched the rescue workers, she realized why they were taking so long. It was because they were being very, very careful about shifting debris. They used a small crane to grab pieces, but they moved them very carefully, and never let anything fall back onto the pile. She figured this was to make sure they didn't crush anyone who was trapped beneath, and the thought warmed her. Randall was telling the truth: they really were assuming there were live people, and acting accordingly. It was just too bad that it was taking them so long doing it that way.

She looked up when a car pulled up behind hers. She immediately recognized Ducky's Morgan, and welcomed him with a grin as he stepped out, carrying a take-out bag. He smiled in return and came to stand in front of her, holding out the bag. "When was the last time you ate anything, my dear?"

"I'm not really hungry," Abby said by way of reply.

Ducky sighed is mild exasperation. He set the food bag down by her knee, then down beside her, putting and arm around her shoulders and squeezing gently. "That is not what I asked, Abigail."

"Don't call me Abigail," she said automatically. "I don't remember when the last time I ate was, but I have a Kaf-Pow, so I'm good." She tried to keep her tone light, but she was finding that really hard right now.

"I came all this way to bring you food," Ducky said, apparently deciding on the guilt ploy. "The least you could do is see what I brought for you."

"Ducky, I'm sorry!" Abby said, hugging him back. She knew he was guilting her on purpose, but it was working anyway. It was a nice thing to do, and she was being ungrateful. With that in mind, she reached for the bag, and pulled out a cup of tomato soup and a deli sandwich. "Thank you, Ducky," she smiled, unwrapping the sandwich and pretending to be enthusiastic about eating it.

"How are you doing?" Ducky asked her while she ate.

"I'm ok. It's Tony and McGee I'm worried about," Abby said.

Ducky sighed. "Abby, look—"

"Don't _say _it, Ducky!" Abby said. She set down Bert and pointed to the work site. "Look at that."

Ducky followed her finger and looked. "What am I looking for?" he asked finally.

"See how carefully they're working?" she asked. "Why do you think they're doing that?"

"I don't know, Abby. Why?"

"Because they don't want to drop something on trapped people!" Abby said triumphantly.

Ducky sighed and patted her knee. "Of course, Abby. Why didn't I see it. I suppose you'll be staying out here for a while more?"

"Until they're found," Abby nodded.

"You'll be cold tonight."

"I have a blanket," Abby said, plucking at it to show him.

"While I worry about your health, I do admire your dedication," Ducky said. "I, however, have old bones and need to get back to my mother. She will be wondering where I am. Will you be…?" He let the question trail off.

Abby smiled again, in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'm fine, Ducky. Go."

He returned her smile, although she could still see concern in his eyes. "Good evening, then, my dear." He struggled to his feet with little grunts of effort that older people tended to make after sitting on the ground.

Abby smiled at him. "'Night, Ducky. Thanks for the food."

He smiled back, then took his leave. Abby continued to eat absently as she watched the rescuers work.

o o o

"_Hi, you've found Agent DiNozzo—"_ Gibbs snapped his phone shut, feeling foolish. He had known, of course, that Tony wouldn't be answering his phone. That was the first thing Ziva had tried, and the first thing he had tried after his wits cleared a little. He just wanted to hear Tony's voice. Sentimental, stupid.

Almost as stupid as what he was doing now, which was attempting to locate Tony's spare apartment key. He knew that ever since Tony had locked himself out the weekend his building manager was on vacation, he had kept a spare key in his desk. What Gibbs didn't know was which drawer. He was just glad that Ziva wasn't around to see him pawing through Tony's stuff.

He smiled when he came to the drawers where Tony kept all of Gibbs' various medals and awards. He was well aware that Tony did this, and unnecessary as it was, it was flattering that he cared. No, not flattering, exactly. It was _heartwarming _that he cared.

Finally, under a half a pack of chewing gum and an pirated copy of _The Shining, _Gibbs found the key he was looking for. At least, he assumed it was the right key. It was an apartment key, and the only one he had found. It could easily be the key to some girl's apartment, he reflected. He glanced around to make sure he was unobserved, then slipped away.

He changed his mind about what he was doing a dozen times on the drive to Tony's apartment. It was stupid. It was sentimental. Shannon would laugh at him. No, he supposed she wouldn't. God knew he had kept enough mementos of her and Kelly. His family. And now, he had lost another member of his family, and it hurt nearly as much.

What Gibbs was after was a picture of Tony. Somehow, he didn't have any. Not good ones, anyway. He had a few group shots with Tony in them, but they were at a distance, grainy, not what he had in mind. And Tony was—had been—enough of a ham that he probably kept pictures of himself. Probably handed them out to women with his phone number written on the back. Gibbs smiled at the image.

He parked around the corner from Tony's apartment building and ducked into the doorway, trying not to be noticed. He let himself in to the apartment, but didn't start looking for pictures right away. Instead he stood in the living room, soaking in the essence of the apartment. He could almost feel that Tony was still alive, here. If he was alive, he would be laughing his head off. "I'm too old to keep losing people," he muttered to no one in particular. To Tony. "Dammit, DiNozzo."

Giving himself a mental shake, he went in search of photos. Tony's living room was devoid of them, at least on the walls. Instead, he had movie posters. Lots and lots of them. In addition, his décor ran towards knick-knacks on every surface. That is, if you could call Obi Wan and Han knick-knacks. Tacky garbage, Gibbs called it. But then, it was Tony all over, so right now he didn't mind so much.

Amused, Gibbs moved on into the bedroom. Here he found more of the same, but he also found some photographs. There was one on the wall between an Indiana Jones poster and a shelf containing what could only be the entire collection of Star Wars Lego figures. The picture showed the whole NCIS team, plus Abby and Ducky. Gibbs remembered when it had been taken: last year, at the first game of the NCIS softball league. He also found pictures showing Ziva, Kate, McGee, Abby, and Ducky. There was even one of Paula Cassidy. But in the place of honor, on Tony's bedside table, was one Gibbs DIDN'T remember being taken. It was a blow-up of a picture that was probably taken on one of those stupid phones. It showed Gibbs and Tony in NCIS headquarters. Gibbs was slapping Tony on the back of the head, Tony making the grimace he usually did when that happened and he knew it was his fault.

Gibbs sank down on Tony's rumpled bed, holding the picture. Tears welled up and ran down his cheeks. He dashed them away impatiently, angrily. Now, why would Tony want a picture of something like that? He had always gotten the impression, from Tony, that the head-slapping bothered him. So why...?

For the same reason that Gibbs was going to keep this picture, he supposed, wiping again ineffectually at the tears. This picture typified their relationship. You couldn't get more…more _Tony and Gibbs _than this picture. And the fact that it was sitting on Tony's bedside table, where most people would keep pictures of their family, spoke volumes.

He sat for a long time holding the picture before he finally got up, took one last look around, and shamelessly stole it.


	8. Sounds in the Dark

Chapter Eight: Sounds in the Dark

**Chapter Eight: Sounds in the Dark**

"Penny for your thoughts."

"My thoughts aren't worth a penny, Tony," McGee said wearily.

"Come on, entertain me." Tony insisted.

"Ok, fine, Tony. I was thinking about all the explosions we've been involved in or with."

"Well, that's cheerful, Probie. There haven't been _that _many, have there?"

"There's this one, of course. The one that nearly killed Gibbs. Oh, and the car bomb. I never…I never thanked you for that," he said, realizing it was true.

"Thanked me?" Tony asked blankly.

"Yes, thanked you. You took the key away from me, and Kate and I ran away."

"Because I _told _you to."

"Yes, that's my point. So, thank you."

Tony knocked his shoulder against McGee's gently. "So, your welcome. Now, think about something more cheerful, or I'm going to smack you."

"And how are you going to find my head in the dark?"

"Echolocation."

McGee smiled, but stopped short of chuckling. There wasn't much to chuckle about. They had been trapped here for twenty-six hours, more or less, and the last several with a corpse. In addition to the headache and pain in his arm, he was now feeling light-headed, although that could have just as easily been from hunger as from oxygen deprivation.

There was a muffled crash from above. McGee flinched and Tony jumped. It was the first sound from outside they had heard, and it probably either meant rescue or the vault caving in on them. Possibly both. McGee and Tony scrambled to their feet, both wobbly from sitting for so long in one position. Tony flipped on his phone and they surveyed the walls in the dim light. No new cracks, and no dust sifting down. Rescue, then.

McGee took a breath to call for help, when Tony's hand on his arm stopped him. "Save your breath, Probie. There's no way they could hear us."

"But we heard them," McGee protested.

"Yeah, just barely. And whatever that noise was, it was a lot louder than us yelling would be."

"So, what, Tony? We just sit here and wait? I'm really, really tired of doing that."

There was another sound above them. "Good point," Tony said. Then, "Hey! HELP!" shouted as loudly as he could.

McGee, after getting over his initial startlement, joined in. They yelled their lungs out for several minutes, then stopped to listen. There was pretty much as steady series of thumps and bumps above them, but no indication that they had been heard. "Like I said," Tony commented, voice sounding a little strained and hoarse, "they can't hear us."

If it wasn't for Tony's hand, still on his arm, McGee would have slid back to the floor in despair. As it was, he pressed against the wall, breathing deeply. "They will find us, won't they?" he asked finally.

Tony loosened his grip and turned it into a comforting pat. "Of course they'll find us. If nothing else, we know they're getting closer. And we also know they're still looking."

"Yeah." McGee was wondering if their radios or phones would start working when enough of the debris had been removed from above them. It was unlikely. The vault was steel-enforced concrete, several feet thick. That was why they were still alive, but it also meant that there was no way communication could reach them.

They stood for a few more minutes, listening. The appearance of noises above them could mean that rescue was imminent. On the other hand, it could also mean that the rescue workers had decided they were dead, and had begun to take less care in shifting rubble. It could mean a lot of things. Finally, neither man having the energy to stand anymore, then slid back down the wall to sit in the floor, shoulders still touching. It was nice, in the absence of light (Tony having shut his phone off again), to have the physical contact.

"So we wait," McGee said.

"We wait," Tony confirmed. "How you doing?"

McGee considered telling him he was fine, but didn't really see the point. "I feel pretty lousy, actually. You?"

He felt Tony sigh. "Yeah, me too. It would be pretty ironic if we asphyxiated right before they found us, huh?"

"God, Tony. And you thought my thoughts were morbid!"

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that this really sucks, you know?"

"Yes, yes it does."

"You going to write this into your next book?"

"You're assuming there'll be a next—"

"Probie! None of that kind of talk!"

It was McGee's turn to sigh. "Right. Happy thoughts. No, Tony, I don't think this will make it into my next book. At this point I'm not even sure if there will BE a next book."

"Why not?" Tony asked, sounding surprised. "The first one was best-seller, wasn't it?"

"And the second one almost got Abby killed," McGee pointed out.

"That was not your fault, McGee."

"Took a lot of the fun out of writing, though," McGee said. In fact, he had missed his deadline to complete the last book. His publisher, considering the circumstances, had given him an extension, but he hadn't written a word since his ideas had caused a madman to go on a killing spree.

"I guess I can see how it would. But I hope you keep writing."

"Really? Why?" McGee asked blankly.

"Because you enjoy it, and you're good at it, idiot."

"Thanks," McGee said. He was vacillating between enjoying a kinder, gentler Tony and being freaked out by it. Either way, though, he was starting to feel better. "What do you suppose Ziva and Gibbs are doing right now?" he wondered aloud.

"You mean, together?" Tony asked with a chuckle.

"Ew, Tony. That's not what I meant," McGee laughed as well.

"I know, I know," Tony said. "I guess they're probably home by now. Work day's over, right?"

"You think they're up there?" McGee asked, pointing over their heads, forgetting Tony couldn't see the gesture.'

"You mean like in hard-hats and everything, digging us out?" Tony asked, and both men cracked up.

"Oh God," Tony said, sobering suddenly. "This is the next stage of asphyxia, isn't it?"

"What?" McGee asked, sobering.

"Headaches, light-headedness, and euphoria, right?" Tony asked, sounding scared now, no longer amused.

"All that yelling must have used up a lot of air," McGee said. The nice thing about euphoria as a symptom, though, was that he didn't care quite so much about dying, now.

"I guess we should try to sleep to save oxygen," Tony said pragmatically.

"Yeah, right. Are you sleepy?"

"I'm too scared to be sleepy," Tony said, yawning.

"Me too," McGee said, although like Tony, he was yawning now too. Oxygen deprivation. At least that should make it easier to sleep until help arrived. Assuming they were still alive. On that thought, both men lapsed into silence. If they couldn't sleep, at least they could rest quietly and try to conserve oxygen that way.

_A/N: Sorry this chapter's so short. I'm running out of things for Tony and McGee to say to each other. Thanks as always for the reviews. Tony Fan, you raise many good points. Fact is, I forgot to continue the thread with Tony's injured lungs, so sorry about that. I could go back and retrofix it, but I'm too lazy. As for the character reactions, I'm writing it as I personally see the character relationships. I understand that not everybody sees it the way I do._


	9. Patience Rewarded

Chapter Nine: Patience Rewarded

**Chapter Nine: Patience Rewarded**

It was going to be another long night. Ziva had spent the day with Gibbs and Fornell, finding out as much as they could about the Marine, Sutter. He had been an explosives expert, so that lent credence to the idea that he had been the one to set the charges to demolish the building. He would have known how to do it in such a way that the building fell as it had. But why would he blow up the building while he was in it? Why would he blow up the building at all?

There was no known connection between Sutter and any terrorist group. Ziva, Fornell, and Director Shepard had all pursued their sources, and had turned up nothing. With no obvious motive and no reason for terrorists to go after such a small, unpopulated target, Homeland Security was losing interest, and Fornell had gone home at six, saying he would meet with them again in the morning. An hour later Ziva had given up as well. She personally didn't think it had anything to do with terrorists. She thought that Sutter was probably working alone for personal reasons. She had seen it before. Gibbs was still there when she left. She wanted to say something, to reach out to him. But he was apparently engrossed in looking over files, and she didn't know what she could say anyway. If nothing could make her feel better, then nothing could make him feel better either.

Now, two hours later, she was sitting on her couch, laptop in front of her, trying to find something to do that didn't remind her of Tony. She had given up trying to watch movies: that was no good. Tony and movies were very closely linked in her mind. She tried to work, but that made her think of NCIS, which made her think of Tony. And McGee. She felt his loss as well, but not with the same intensity as Tony's. McGee had been her coworker. Tony had been her friend. If there was anything more than that, she wasn't willing to admit it, even to herself.

She just hoped, for both their sakes, that it had been painless.

o o o

"Hey, Abbs." Gibbs spoke softly, but Abby jumped violently nonetheless; she hadn't heard him.

She looked up, not at Gibbs but at the giant Kaf-Pow he was holding down for her. She smiled and took it from him. "Thanks, Gibbs."

He returned her smile and sat next to her, following her gaze to the recovery efforts that were once again taking place under the floodlights. "Anything?"

"They found the security guards. The rest of them, I mean," Abby said around the straw.

Gibbs nodded. "I know." He had been there when Ducky came to collect the bodies, which were this time mercifully recognizable as two people Abby had never seen before, and NOT Timothy or Tony.

"Gibbs, they're almost to the floor," Abby said, troubled. They had removed most of the upper structure of the building, all ten stories. They had recovered the security guards, but of the NCIS agents or the Marine who caused all this, there had been no sign.

"I know that too," Gibbs said.

If he knew all that, why had he asked her if anything was new? She almost asked, but thought better of it. "So where are Tony and McGee?" she asked instead, tone a little whinier than she would have liked. She took a long drink of Kaf-Pow to fortify her.

"Must be in the basement," Gibbs said.

Abby hadn't even thought of that. Of course a bank would have a basement. "In the safe or whatever?" she asked, getting excited. The basement was probably safe!

"Abby," Gibbs said gently. "Please don't do this to yourself. If they're down there, there wouldn't be oxygen for them for a whole day."

"Gibbs! Keep the faith!" Abby said, punching his shoulder lightly. "I'm going to talk to Randall." She jumped to her feet.

"Randall?" Gibbs said blankly. He struggled to his feet after her, somewhat less adroitly than she had. She thought about offering him a hand up, but she had a Kaf-Pow in one hand, and besides it might offend him.

"Head of the night shift," Abby explained. She was looking around for Randall as she spoke, and finally spotted her in the middle of the concrete of the building's subfloor, talking to the crane operator. She glanced there way, made eye contact, and then went back to her conversation.

Abby started forward, but Gibbs caught her before she entered the hard hat area. "Wait," he said. "She sees us."

Abby fidgeted, but waited. In a couple of minutes, Randall finished her conversation and came over to them. "Something, Abby?"

"I was just wondering, that is…" Abby faltered.

"Wondering how it's going?" Randall asked gently. Abby nodded. "We've removed most of the debris of the building. Your people must have managed to get to the basement."

Abby and Gibbs looked over at the concrete, half of it broken and caved in, the other half merely cracked but still holding up. The crane was parked over to one side, to keep its weight from breaking in what little floor was left. "No sign…?" Gibbs asked finally when it didn't seem she would be speaking again.

"Not yet," she said. "I'm sorry I don't have better news. We haven't excavated any of the basement yet. As you might imagine, it's more difficult than a lot of the rest of it, especially in the places where the concrete is still intact, such as over the vault. We're going to start removing the loose pieces of concrete. There are places under there that didn't collapse."

"Please be careful," Abby said, then, remembering the care they had taken earlier that day, "Oh! Not that you're not! I mean, you guys are being very careful and we appreciate it—"

Randall held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "I know what you meant, Abby. Now, we're going to be moving some very large chunks of concrete, so I'm going to have to ask you to move back a little bit, ok? You might want to go back over to your car."

Abby nodded, and she and Gibbs went back over to the blankets she had been calling home for nearly a day now. "They're down there," she said to Gibbs, because she was worried he was giving up on them. "It won't be long now."

"It won't be long now," Abby said. Gibbs looked at her closely, seeing optimism shining past the fatigue in her eyes. She really believed that they were alive down there. Even if by some miracle they had made it to one of the sheltered areas, they would have run out of air by now. At least, he was almost sure they would have. He had heard of cases of people being trapped under debris for days and surviving. But that wasn't in the basement of the building. If they had gotten trapped there and lived, it would have been more like being trapped in a mine. Death by slow suffocation. Given the choice, he hoped they had been crushed.

"Gibbs?" Abby asked, breaking him out of his dark thoughts.

"Yeah," he said wearily.

"Why would they run into the basement?" she asked, frowning in puzzlement over her Kaf-Pow. She had sat back down on the blanket, one arm wrapped around her stuffed hippo and a book that looked suspiciously like the one McGee had written. "I mean, if they saw the bombs, why not run outside?"

"I don't know, Abby," Gibbs admitted. He didn't want to think about motives right now. He was too tired to think about much of anything. He gently took the book from her and turned to over to the picture of "Thom E. Gemcity" on the back. McGee, from an earlier and happier time. It was a good picture of him. He looked like an earnest young novelist. Gibbs sadness was temporarily replaced by anger. He'd had so much promise. He was probably the best Gibbs had ever seen with computers, better even than Abby, although he would never tell her that. And he must be a good writer, since his book had done so well. Gibbs hadn't read it yet, and he suddenly regretted it. His hands tightened on the book.

"They'll find them, Gibbs," Abby said, putting one hand gently over his. He looked up at her and saw his own doubt reflected in her eyes. So maybe she wasn't as sure they were alive as she was pretending.

"I hope you're right, Abbs," was all he was able to say. He was pretty convinced they were dead. It was nearly nine o'clock: twenty-seven hours since they had been trapped, if indeed that had been what happened to them. Otherwise, twenty-seven hours since they had been crushed. He reluctantly let go of the book and handed it back to her. She set it down and put the hippo on top of it.

They sat in companionable silence, watching the crane gently pull up pieces of the floor. After each pieces was lifted, a recovery worker would go over and look down, searching for any signs of the missing men. Then he would retreat and the crane would lift another chunk. It was actually really boring. After a little while, Abby became heavier, and Gibbs gently pulled her against his side as she fell asleep. A little while later, he gently reached across her and took the book, careful not to disturb the hippo. He opened it and started reading.

o o o

Abby awoke with a start, jerking her head off Gibbs, whom she had apparently been using for a pillow. There were excited voices, and the crane had been turned off. "What's going on?" she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "Did they find them?"

Gibbs was already struggling to his feet, holding an arm down to keep her from falling when he removed his supporting weight. After gaining his feet, he pulled her up as well. They could see several men climbing down into the hole the crane had excavated, and Randall was coming back, approaching them, face split into a grin.

"Ohmygodohmygod, they found them!" Abby squealed, letting go of Gibbs' hand and running forward. "You found them!" she shouted, attempting to launch herself past the fire chief.

Randall grabbed her by both arms to stop her from running into the work site. "Slow down! That's a hard hat area!" When Abby still tried to get past she gave her a little shake. "Abby! It's not safe! Stop it, dammit!"

Abby stopped struggling and glared at the other woman. "But they're there, right? They're ok, right?" She turned to Gibbs, suddenly scared again. Randall looked happy, but what if she'd only found one of them? What if only one of them had made it?

Gibbs, who had hurried up with Abby but stopped without having to be grabbed, seemed stunned. "Chief Randall?" he asked, looking at her.

Randall looked way too happy not to have some good news. She grinned again, wider this time. "You're right, Abby. We found them."

"They're…alive?" Gibbs' eyes had gone wide, the blue looking especially pale in the floodlights. His face also looked drained of color. Abby put an arm out, worried the shock would be too much for him. He took her hand seemingly unconsciously.

Randall nodded. "They're alive. Both your people are alive."

This time she wasn't fast enough to stop either Abby or Gibbs from running into the hardhat area.


	10. Rescue

**Chapter Ten: Rescue**

McGee awoke with a start when the dull thumping changed into a loud crunch right outside the vault door. He tried to jump to his feet, but stumbled and ended up on his knees instead, gasping for air that was no longer there. His arm burned from the force of his hands hitting the floor. Tony, wisely, stayed sitting. "Not enough oxygen to do that, Probie," he managed weakly.

"_That _was close!" McGee insisted, struggling back next to Tony. "_That _ is rescue!" He didn't have strength for more. His head was pounding, the sudden movement had made him so sick to his stomach he was using most of what little energy he had to keep from throwing up.

"I think you're right," Tony agreed incredulously. He gently nudged past McGee, crawling to the door. He reached it just as it was wrenched open a crack. "Hey! In here!" he called unnecessarily.

"You ok in there?" came a voice from outside the vault. McGee thought it was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. Full of hope, promise, rescue, and oxygen. He struggled to follow Tony, crawling over on two knees and one arm, trying not to put weight on his injured one. As soon as the got to the crack in the door, it was much easier to breathe.

"We're ok! We're great!" Tony's voice sounded choked, and he coughed from the effort. McGee imaged it was. He could feel tears of relief stinging his own eyes.

"Just hang on, we're getting you out," the voice, an older female voice, told them. "I'm Chief Randall of the DCFD. Who're you?"

"Tony DiNozzo! NCIS agent!" Tony called back happily.

"Agent DiNozzo!" She exclaimed, sounding really happy for someone who didn't know Tony. But he seemed to have that effect on women. "You alone?"

"No! Agent McGee is with me!" Tony said before McGee could speak for himself.

"He's ok too?"

"I'm ok," McGee put in before Tony could beat him to it.

"I know some people who will be very, very happy to hear that," Randall said. "Hold on, we're getting you out." The shadow that had been Randall retreated.

"Hey, wait!" Tony called, voice rising.

"Relax," came a male voice from the other side of the door. "She's just going to tell your people that you're ok."

"Tell them? They're here?" McGee asked incredulously. Either they had some sort of uncanny sixth sense, or they had been there for a while.

"There's this one young lady who has been here the whole time," the firefighter said. "I don't think she's slept." There were some debris-shifting noises, and the door was pulled open enough that they could see who was speaking, a young-looking man in construction gear and a hard hat. "Come on out, folks," he said, stepping back.

McGee, fortified with oxygen, struggled to his feet to follow Tony, who had already slipped through the door. Suddenly a desperate ball of energy hit forcefully, propelling Tony back into McGee and nearly knocking him back into the vault. He braced himself at the last moment, totally unwilling to spend any more time in the vault.

"Tony! Tonytonytony!" It was Abby, clinging to Tony, who was struggling to right himself. She suddenly detached from him, though, when she saw McGee. "McGee!" She wrapped both arms around him and buried her face in his chest, clinging hard. They she let go, stepped back, and took his face in her hands. "Timothy," she said more softly. "Are you ok?"

McGee looked at her, at a loss. She was a mess. Her hair was unbrushed, she wasn't wearing makeup, and tears were running down her face. She was the most beautiful thing ever. "Abby, I'm—" he started, but she had wrapped her arms around him again.

"Oh, Timothy! You're ok! You're both ok!"

He wiggled his good arm free and wrapped it around her as well. "I'm fine, Abby. I'm fine."

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled into his chest. "I'm so sorry. I don't ever want to fight with you again!"

He hugged her harder. "It's ok, Abbs," he said, and meant it. Any anger he had over the dog incident had long since been burned away in the dark of the bank vault. He was just glad to see her.

o o o

Gibbs couldn't believe it. They were alive. Stunned, he followed Abby as she ran to the pit and clambered in. He looked over the edge to see her fly into Tony's arms, then latch into McGee. Tony and McGee. Standing in front of him. He tried to climb down, not nearly as gracefully as she had, and ended up being helped into something of a controlled slide by a helpful construction worker. He slid to a stop in front of Tony.

"Hey, Boss," Tony said in a deliberately casual tone.

Normally, Gibbs wasn't big on public displays of affection. But this time he didn't even give it a thought as he gathered Tony up into a fierce hug. It wasn't enough to see that he was alive. He wanted to feel it too. After a startled few seconds, Tony hugged him back.

"Having trouble breathing, Boss," Tony said finally.

Gibbs, recalled to the plane of reality that they usually existed in, let go, took a half-step back, and slapped Tony gently on the back of the head. "Don't ever do that to me again, DiNozzo," he said, aware that the effectiveness of any harshness in his words would be somewhat negated by the tears in his eyes.

"Ow! Hey!" Tony protested. But he was smiling, and there seemed to be tears in his eyes as well. He looked terrible. He was rumpled and filthy. Two days worth of beard covered his face. He had circles under his eyes, and he kept coughing.

Gibbs cleared his throat. "Are you alright?" he asked, resisting the urge to begin poking and prodding.

"I'm fine, Boss," Tony said. "We were sheltered in the vault. Stuck in the vault, but sheltered in it." At the mention of the vault, Gibbs looked over at the open door. Tony followed is gaze. "Sutter didn't make it," he said softly. "We chased him in there, and he was injured. He died."

It was on the tip of Gibbs's tongue to ask for details, but he realized that at the moment, he didn't care that Sutter was dead. His agents weren't, and that was the important thing. "I expect a full report tomorrow," he said instead.

"Sure thing, Boss," Tony said without any sincerity.

"I want you checked out at the hospital, fine or not," he went on.

"But I'm—" Tony started to protest. Then he shook his head. "Sure. I'm going." Gibbs couldn't help but notice that he didn't make any move to actually go anywhere, but didn't mind for the moment. From the look of things he had another agent to rescue.

McGee was sending him trapped looks over Abby's head. She had apparently affixed herself to him and wouldn't let go. He had one arm around her shoulders, and the other one—the injured one—held away from his body. There was dried blood on his sleeve, as well as a little on other parts of his shirt. Gibbs stepped in and began carefully peeling off Abby. "Hey, Tim, how you doing?" he asked gently.

"I am very, very glad to see you. And Abby. And the outside of that box," McGee said vehemently.

Gibbs grinned at him. "I'll bet you are. Abbs, come on," he said to her, as she was resisting his attempts to remove her from McGee's person.

"I'm good," she said, voice muffled by McGee's front, "we're good. Right, Timmy?"

"Yeah, Abby, we're good. Except that I can't walk with you wrapped around me like that," he said to the top of her head. He looked back at Gibbs.

"She's been here the whole time," Gibbs put in. "Since last night."

"It was just last night?" McGee said. He looked at his watch. "It feels longer than thirty-one hours." He sounded and looked exhausted. He wasn't coughing as much as Tony, possibly because of the scar tissue in Tony's lungs, but he looked worse. His face was pale under the grime, and covered with a sheen of sweat. And then there was the blood on his shirt.

"Come on," Gibbs said, trying to shift Abby so that McGee could walk. "Let's get you checked out."

"I'm ok, Boss," McGee protested as they headed to the edge of the pit.

"You have blood on your shirt," Gibbs pointed out.

"Not my own," McGee said grimly. "Sutter's. I shot him."

Gibbs closed his eyes briefly. He had suspected something of that nature from what Tony had said, but it still added a dimension to the whole thing that they didn't need. "We'll deal with that tomorrow," he said firmly. "Right now, I want you and DiNozzo to go to the hospital and get checked out, and then I expect you all—Abby, this means you as well—to get a good night's sleep."

"We will if you will, Boss," Tony said cheekily. If he hadn't already been halfway up out of the pit, Gibbs would have slapped him again.

o o o

Ziva jerked awake when her cell phone rang. She had fallen asleep on the couch, head back, and it was agony to straighten up to answer. She put her laptop, which was still on her lap, aside, glanced automatically at her watch—four a.m., and answered her phone. "This is David."

"Hello, Zee-va," said a voice from the grave.

She sat bolt upright, stiff neck forgotten. "Tony?" she said incredulously, wondering suddenly if she was still asleep.

"In the flesh," he confirmed.

"You-you're…you and McGee…" she was having trouble stringing her thoughts together. Tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her face, unnoticed until they started falling on the hand she had resting on her lap.

"We're both ok, we're fine," Tony said, for once not teasing her.

"Wh-where are you?" she managed.

"We're at the hospital at the moment. McDogbitevictim tore his stitches. We'll be heading home soon."

"Which hospital?" Ziva asked, already halfway out the door.

"George Washington," Tony said. "You really don't need to come all the way down here, though, Ziva."

"Try and stop me," she said fiercely.

"Uh, ok. I could use a ride home, I guess."

Ziva was surprised. She thought he was terrified of her driving. "I will be there in a half hour," she said.

"Great," Tony said. "I should go check on Probie. I'll see you soon." With that he rang off, although Ziva would have preferred to keep him on the line. She had a million questions for him, not the least of which was how he could be alive.

Since it was the middle of the night, traffic was light and Ziva made good time getting to the hospital. When she arrived, McGee was just getting out of an exam room, a very sleepy-looking Abby clamped to his side. He was wearing a scrub top, and his arm was freshly-bandaged. Gibbs was sitting in a chair next to Tony, who had apparently fallen asleep, leaning back in the same neck-bending manner that Ziva had been not too long ago. She approached McGee first, hesitant about waking Tony. "McGee," she said, then stopped, feeling the embarrassing weakness of tears threatening.

He smiled at her. "Ziva."

Abby let go and stepped over by Gibbs, giving them a moment. Ziva put a hand on his shoulder. "I am very glad to see you," she said.

"I'm very glad to see you too," he said. "We didn't know if you and Gibbs had been caught in the explosion."

"We are fine," she said, surprised that they had been worried about her, since their situation had been so dire. Surprised, but warmed as well. It was nice to have friends. With that thought, she hugged him, careful of his arm.

He hugged back. "We're fine too," he said into her hair.

She felt him stiffen suddenly, and let go to follow his gaze over her shoulder. Tony was awake and smirking at them. "Tony," she said casually.

"Zee-va," he said, struggling to his feet with a discrete arm up from Gibbs.

Ziva managed to restrain herself from actually running over to hug him, but hug him she did. He returned it. "I thought you were dead," she said, embarrassed at the tears that were threatening.

He hugged her harder. "Yeah. Me too," he admitted softly.

"And now, it's bed time, people," Gibbs said briskly. Ziva reluctantly let Tony go. McGee had come to join them, Abby clamped to him again. He didn't seem to mind. "I'll take Tim and Abby home," Gibbs offered.

"I can drive myself," Abby said with a huge yawn.

"Yeah," Gibbs said, "in what car?"

"Oh yeah," she said, frowning. "I didn't take my car here, did I?"

He kissed her on the temple. "No, no you didn't. I drove."

"I will take Tony home," Ziva said.

"Great. I'm going to die," Tony complained, just as if he hadn't asked her to half an hour ago. She wanted to be offended, but couldn't quite make herself at the moment. It was too good to see them alive. She made a mental note to get him back at a later time.

"Has anyone called Ducky?" she asked instead.

"Yeah. Called him while Tony was calling you. Convinced him to wait for the tearful hellos until morning," Gibbs told her.

She looped her arm through Tony's. "Then let us all go home," she said happily.

o o o

McGee awoke to Abby's purring snore. It took him a few moments to put together where he was and what was happening. As soon as he did he smiled and draped one arm over Abby's shoulders, careful not to wake her. He was safe, home, and in bed. Gibbs hadn't commented a few hours ago when he had dropped McGee off, and Abby had gotten out with him. They had both been so exhausted that they had fallen into bed fully-clothed. Not that anything would have happened anyway except for sleep. His relationship with Abby was a platonic one, had been for a while, and he was happy with that. He loved her dearly, and she him, but in the same way as they felt about the rest of the team. Well, maybe a little more than that, he thought, enjoying the warmth of another human next to him.

Not ready to fall back to sleep just yet, but loathe to wake Abby, who was getting her first good sleep in two days, McGee reached over to where he had plugged his phone in. He flipped it open and pulled it to his ear to check for messages. There were three. The first two were work-related but unimportant, left sometime in the first few ours of their entrapment. The third was from Abby.

"_McGee? I know you're not there right now. You're in a dead zone—not dead, dead, because you're not dead—" _here her voice broke, and McGee felt himself tearing up a bit as well. _"But you can't use your phone right now. But I know you'll get this message. I just wanted to say…I wanted to say that I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you. I know you didn't mean to hurt Jeth-hurt Butch. I know you were only defending yourself. It's just…I had a dog like him once, and I guess I just got all crazy. But I'd trade all the Jethro-all the Butches in the world to have you back, Timothy. So come home soon, ok? I love you." _With that, she hung up.

McGee swallowed several times. He carefully returned the phone to the nightstand and wiped his face. He was trying to be careful, but his movements disturbed Abby.

She made a few little sleepy sounds, then stretched against him. "McGee?" she asked sleepily, blinking up at him.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he said, then coughed. His throat still had a lump in it, and it was also painfully dry. He'd had several glasses of water to drink, but was still dehydrated.

Abby struggled into a sitting position. "You didn't," she said. "Want some water?" If she noticed that he had been crying, she was too polite to say anything.

He nodded gratefully, and watched silently as she got up and went to get him a glass. It was nice to be taken care of. He hadn't had anyone bring him a glass of water since he had left home to go to college. She returned and handed him the glass, which he nearly drained. "Thanks, Abbs."

"You're welcome, Timothy." She was looking at him intently, slight frown creasing her brow. She looked like she wanted to say something.

"What?" he finally asked when she didn't seem inclined to speak.

"I'm just—I just—" with a sob she launched herself at him, knocking the glass out of his hand. Luckily it was plastic and empty, so it just bounced off the night table and fell on the floor.

"Abby! What's wrong?" he asked, worried.

She pulled back, tears in her eyes. "What's wrong? You nearly died! You nearly died, and the last things I said to you were mad things!"

McGee, finally understanding, pulled her close. "Oh, Abbs," he said. "I'm sorry I got mad at you."

"_You're_ sorry?" she demanded, crying harder. "_I'm_ sorry! I'm so sorry!"

He held her for a while. She eventually relaxed and smiled up at him shyly. "Let's not ever fight again, Timmy," she said.

He smiled back at her. "I'll agree to that."

She snuggled down next to him again. "Sleep more?"

"Sleep more," he agreed, still smiling, feeling better than he had in a week.

o o o

Everyone except for Ducky took a sick day. McGee and Abby spent the morning sleeping, then Abby finally went home to shower, change, and goth herself up. McGee stayed in bed, not sleeping but drifting. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to get up. He was alive, and that was enough. As good as that felt, though, there were demons flickering around the edge of his brain.

He was finally forced to get up when there was a knocking at his door. He tried to ignore it, but it became constant and annoying. Realizing it could only be Tony, McGee finally got up, muttering, and opened the door.

Tony came bearing pizza and beer. Without waiting for an invitation he blazed in. "Hey, Probie. Thought you might be hungry. Are those scrubs you're wearing? Do you have any idea how you look? Go take a shower and shave, man. Food's getting cold."

McGee stepped back from the onslaught of Tonyism. "Uh, hi," he managed.

Tony set the pizza and beer on the countertop. "Seriously. Shower."

McGee grinned, unoffended. Tony was right. Eating would be a lot more fun if he was clean. "Pizza will still be here when I get back?" he asked. Assured that it would, he took a quick shower, made difficult by the need to keep his bandages dry, and shaved. Fresh and clean, feeling much better, he rejoined Tony, who was now flopped in the living room, eating pizza.

"Much better," Tony said around a mouthful of pizza.

"Get your feet off the furniture," McGee returned, sitting down next to him and grabbing some pizza. "What's the occasion?"

Tony gave him an incredulous look. "What's the occasion? It's a celebration, man!"

McGee studied him. Tony was smiling, but it didn't really reach his eyes, which were dark and veiled. He had missed a spot on his cheek shaving. "Funny. You don't look like you're celebrating."

Tony carefully set his beer down and looked at McGee, smile gone. "Ok, you want to know the truth? I thought you might be hungry. And I was hungry. We were just through hell together, and I wanted to have lunch."

McGee almost accepted that. He felt the same way. There was something about almost dying with someone to bring you closer together. But there was something else. "And?" he prompted.

Tony sighed. "And I know you were upset about the Sutter thing."

The demons came back. "Yeah," McGee admitted. He was upset. But now, in his own apartment, sunlight streaming through the windows, it didn't seem as bad as it had yesterday. "Was it just yesterday?" he said, startled to hear his voice. He hadn't meant to speak out loud.

Tony laughed. "Yeah. Well, day before yesterday."

"I meant when we got out."

"Today, technically."

McGee opened a beer. He didn't feel like feeling sorry for the son-of-a-bitch who had nearly killed them. He didn't feel like being sorry for himself. He just wanted to have a beer with a friend. He held up the bottle. "To today, then."

Tony picked his own bottle back up and clinked it with McGee's. "To today. And hot women."

McGee grinned. "'Hot women?' Where did that come from?"

Tony grinned back, and this time it reached his eyes. "I always toast hot women."

"That figures." He stopped talking then to tuck into the pizza. For several minutes they ate in companionable silence.

"You know something weird?" Tony said suddenly.

"Hm?" McGee said, still eating.

"I think someone's been in my apartment," Tony said, sounding puzzled. "There's a picture missing from my nightstand."

"Someone broke into your apartment and stole a picture?" McGee asked, confused.

"I think so. I mean, what else could it be? Nothing else was missing that I could see. No signs of a break-in."

"Well, are you sure you didn't just move it?" McGee asked, taking another slice of pizza.

Tony shook his head. "I don't see how. I don't remember doing it. Aw, hell, I suppose it's possible."

"You're a detective, I'm sure you'll detect it eventually," McGee said, grinning.

Tony returned his smile. "Yeah, I guess so. It's no big deal anyway. It was just a print-out of a picture on my computer. I can always print another one."

That issue taken care of, they returned to the more pressing concern of who deserved the final piece of pizza.

o o o

_A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. _


End file.
